Page 25 of Pour Decisions
JD sighs again.
“Seriously, it’s fine if it’s not perfect. Maybe that’s the whole point that Nana was trying to get across.” I prop up my blob, but it falls over again.
“Probably. It’s just hard to not…” He gestures vaguely toward the dog-blob. “Be good at it.”
“I get you.” I poke at my blob. “But we can be shitty at it together so it’s not so terrible.”
He looks at me, surprised for a second before he nods. But he doesn’t say anything else. He just adds a wonky tail onto his Murphy sculpture. I sip on my wine and study his hands. Doing both at the same time isn’t the best combination, because now I can’t stop thinking about how they feel on my body.
Thankfully, Hugh swoops in and admires everyone’s pieces. He especially appreciates my Ditto, calling it inspired.
“Your next emotional prompt is whimsy, served with a sparkling rosé,” Hugh says, giving us all equally generous pours of the wine. I’m already feeling very loose, so this won’t help.
“Whimsy?” JD says it like the prompt was to go to the nearest nursing home and start throwing punches.
“Are you capable of tapping deep into yourself to find a shred of whimsy?” I ask, grabbing a lump of clay and picking at the cup filled with tools. “Deep, deep down? Way deep?”
“I can sincerely say I’ve never had a whimsical moment in my life.” Even so, JD grabs some clay.
“Ever?”
“Ever.” His brows furrow as he pulls the lump of clay into smaller lumps.
“Not even with Bubba?” I look at my lump of clay and tilt my head to the side. “He’s capable of whimsy. I saw a butterfly land on his nose the other day. It was so cute.”
“Did he immediately eat the butterfly after?” JD asks, raising an eyebrow at me and accepting his rosé from Hugh.
I bite my lip. He licked it off his nose the moment he realized he could. “Okay, yeah, but it was cute for a second. Whimsical, even. How did you know he ate it?”
“He loves eating butterflies,” he says. “My mom has a flower bush that attracts them, and every time we’re there, he sneaks over and just goes for them all.”
“Like…he just murders them all? Like they’re a bush full of potato chips?”
“Yep.”
“That’s kind of fucked up. Are they more delicious than any other insect?”
“Apparently. He won’t even eat a fly or even a moth that drifts into the house.” He shrugs, the tension that’s usually between his brows melting away. His shoulders are more relaxed than they were when we were doing our first sculpture too.
“Wow. I kind of love it, though. He’s such a sweet dog. Having a bit of a dark side makes him more well-rounded.” He loves to cuddle with me on the couch and shadows me when I cook. He even reacts when I talk to him about whatever I’m doing in the kitchen, his ears perking up and tail wagging.
He tends to visit me, then disappear back to JD’s office, then reappear again, like he’s trying to hang out with us both equally.
“He’s the best dog I’ve ever had. I can’t imagine going to work without him.” JD cleans his hands on a damp paper towel and picks up his wine.
“You’re such a dog dad.” I lightly bump his shoulder. Yeah, the wine is kicking in. This is a friend blind date, but I’m feeling inches away from flirty. I need to rein it back. “When did you start taking him to work with you?”
“My parents were the ones who got him as a puppy, but they saw how much we were bonded. I guess he was maybe a year or two old when I started taking him to work daily. He’s the brand ambassador of Big Bubba Bourbon.”
“The brand ambassador?” I glance down at his phone, which is lit up with a random notification. His phone background is Bubba, looking like the biggest goofball on earth. “That’s…”
“It’s a joke, but only to me,” he says. “It drives everyone else crazy.”
“Are you trolling your employees?” I grin at him and he gives me a noncommittal shrug, the corner of his mouth quirked up just a bit. “You’re absolutely trolling them! I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“It’s the only way I can joke around with them, and I’m not even laughing,” he says. His little smirk turns into a rare, genuine smile, and it makes my heart skip. “But don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.” My voice comes out weak. God, over his smile. Imagine if we actually touched each other. I’d probably combust.
